


Ashes to Ashes

by RobinWritesChirps



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: F/F, Ficlet, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinWritesChirps/pseuds/RobinWritesChirps
Summary: Jemilla, her wife and the rest of the tribe mourn the departure of their beloved former leader.Emphasis on the comfort rather than the hurt. From a tumblr prompt I received, "Gritty eyes when you stare into fire too long".
Relationships: Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 23





	Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to use the heavy warning and am instead putting a soft warning here; this fic deals with the aftermath of the death of a beloved character, Molag. The focus is on the comfort more than the hurt, though.

In the years preceding her death, Molag began to give her people instructions for how she wanted to be celebrated after she would be gone. Of course, all of them denied any such possibility, too pained by the prospect that she could ever leave them, and the instructions were for the most part ignored by everyone she confided them in. When in the last months of her life, she began to lose some of her sharp wits, they listened a little closer but every person she invited into her small hut came out with a different version of the funeral she demanded. By the time the elder inevitably drew her last breath, the tribe decided to blend a few of her requests in giving Molag the sendoff she deserved. It was not enough, it could never be, for Molag had shaped the tribe for too many years and marked the spirits of her people too sincerely for her ever to be paid the proper respects for her immeasurable role guiding them. It was an attempt, though, and Jemilla thought that Molag would have liked the mismatched chaotic mess that was her funeral.

For a week, she was left to rest among the ducks in the pond. Although Jemilla had been afraid they would peck on her body, they never did, instead fluttering about and nudging her like they expected her to come alive again and pet them or pick worms from the mud for them. This was what she had asked Ducker to arrange with her body. To Zazzalil, she had asked to burn her remains in the village’s bonfire at the center of their circle of huts. In her best attire, the late Molag was dragged from the pond to the furnace burning bright and for a day, the village reeked with the scent of her wake, impossible to ignore. The next day, Jemilla would fulfill her part of the funeral and scatter the ashes remaining across the field where Molag had buried her 16 husbands.

The whole tribe sat around the fire all evening once the smoke smelled like smoke again and everyone in turn talked of their favorite moments shared with Molag. Emberly had cooked some river crawfish with red berries on flat stones around the hearth inside her family’s hut and was now handing them out to each tribe member, trying to smile and comfort her friends with the meager solace of Molag’s favorite snack wrapped in banana leaves. Tiblyn was crying, though perhaps a little less after Smelly Balls wrapped his arms around her to comfort her and himself. Not even Schwoopsie’s jokes had managed to really light up the spirits.

"I believe I was the first among us all to acknowledge the Duck’s great power and wisdom," Ducker was saying to an audience who for once indulged him. He had a duck on his lap and was petting it gently. "I must have been seven or eight. Molag noticed me playing in the duck pond and asked me to repeat her the story I’d been telling the ducks. After that, she told the rest of the tribe of the Duck’s superb grandiosity and…"

Jemilla forced herself to chuckle with the others as the story went on and on. Zazzalil, as if she could read her mind, held her closer against her and kissed her temple. Jemilla had not left her embrace all evening, nor did she wish to. She leaned her head against Zazzalil’s shoulder and listened. Smelly Balls told of Molag teaching him her battle cry, Tiblyn spoke of the many, many unsolicited dating tips Molag had given her throughout the years. Even Zazzalil was animated with the story of how she had taught Molag to use a spear and how the student had surpassed the master within just one lesson.

"She really was the war master," she concluded, smiling sadly.

The fire was slowly dwindling down before their eyes and Jemilla blinked the sting of the smoke away. Her breath was full of it, scratching with every in and out, but she was used to it by now and it was a companion to her sorrow.

"What about you, Jemilla?" Keeri asked in a timid and tired voice.

It was an odd thing, really, that most of them here had been born into the tribe when Jemilla had not, and yet Molag had seen something in her from the moment she had taken her in, and she out of all of them had been picked to be the next leader. In turn, fate had led Zazzalil into her arms and up the ranks and the tribe was now in their hands with equal power. Still, without Molag’s compassion on that day she could not even remember…

"I…" She tried to say something, anything to give full glory to the woman who had raised her but for the first time in her life, the words failed her. Jemilla had been so busy building a better tomorrow for her tribe it was an odd thing to turn around to look instead at the past. She now wished she had honored it more. "I can’t think of a thing. I can think of a million, but…"

"I got another one," Zazzalil said at once and Jemilla felt the squeeze of her fingers around her waist, light but enough to impress on her a sense of comfort, of support.

Usually so flown about with her whims, Zazzalil had been the rock Jemilla had needed since Molag’s condition had deteriorated the past few weeks. The day of her passing, she had not stopped holding her for one moment. Jemilla would always be grateful for the love evident in every action, every word.

"I was on guard duty outside the cave with Molag, this was when I was little, I think barely a teen," she explained. Jemilla did not remember having heard this story before. "And I was complaining about lady Jemilla here, because she kept telling me how to do my job and I thought I knew better than her."

Jemilla smiled fondly at the memories of how things had used to have been between them, always poking at each other to pry outrage.

"And then Molag told me that whenever a man tried to tell her what to do, she dueled him till he yielded to her, and that this was how she had married five of her husbands, so this was probably a sign I would marry Jemilla one day."

This made Jemilla feel a surge of affection not just for her wife but for Molag more than ever. She had always known she had Molag’s support on this relationship, from the day she had married Zazzalil up until the very last she had talked to her, but to hear it from her other half was all the more heartwarming.

"Then she showed me those berry bushes by the river and told me this was where she dragged her husbands whenever they argued for too long even once they were married, and this was where she fought them or fucked them, and they always came out of the bushes limping either way, and the fight was always over regardless. That I could give that a try when I was all grown."

"And did you?" Schwoopsie asked curiously.

Jemilla was grateful for the fire still burning, for it being late at night, that nobody would see the deep blush she could feel at her cheeks.

"Did I?" Zazzalil replied with much less subtlety than she was hoping, and everyone laughed around.

They sat there long past sundown and though Jemilla never found an anecdote of her own to tell, she reminisced so many of them, all the years Molag had loved and guided her, that she preferred to keep them all inside herself for the time being. It was as though she was scared that, if she let out the memories to share them with others, they might somehow leave her heart. This was silly − if anything, it worked the other way around, as stories were more vivid when they were told − but there were yet many nights ahead for her to let them all out.

One by one, the rest of the tribe went to bed till it was just Zazzalil and Jemilla out here staring at the fire. The remains of Molag could no longer be made out from the logs, not even a little bit, and all that was left was the feeling of something missing from Jemilla, a part of herself burnt up in those embers. Her wife’s embrace was more intimate now that they were on their own, more overt as there was nobody to keep her dignity for. Lying on top of her, Jemilla hugged Zazzalil’s waist shamelessly and pressed her face to her chest as they laid there together. Zazzalil was playing with her hair and Jemilla was soothed from her touch.

"I almost expect her to rise from the ashes," she said as dawn was about to break. They had not spoken in an hour or two but she knew Zazzalil would not sleep if she did not. "She could always do anything."

"She could," Zazzalil replied. Her fingers tickled at Jemilla’s temple very softly and she sighed with contentment. "She inspired all of us to be brave."

Jemilla nodded and realized she was yawning. She coughed on the smoke and Zazzalil rubbed her back to make it pass.

"Even me," Jemilla said. "I don’t know what I’m gonna do now that… that she’s not here…"

"That’s okay," Zazzalil said and Jemilla felt just a tad lighter from her kind words already. "Babe, take it one moment at a time, okay? You don’t have to do anything for now, just… hang in there, alright? We’re here for you."

The first hints of sunlight were peeking over the mountains in the distance as pitch dark turned to navy. She yawned again and Zazzalil sat up, pulling her with the motion.

"We’ll collect the ashes tonight," she said. She sounded so decisive for once, not one ounce of hesitation. Jemilla, who was so used to making all decisions, was happy to defer them to her today. "I’ll deal with the others while you sleep."

On another day, Jemilla would have insisted that Zazzalil sleep too, she would have been strong for her people. She would have scoffed at the idea of sleeping while the sun was up. Today, the tiredness and even moreso the grief weighed too heavy for her to protest and she simply followed Zazzalil when she guided her back to their hut, the chiefs’ hut.

"There," Zazzalil said as she unclasped Jemilla’s jewelry from her and laid her down on their bed. "Nice and cozy. Hey, take it easy, babe."

Jemilla let herself be tucked in and pampered, for once this way around. Zazzalil gave her a quick kiss and petted her hair a little and Jemilla felt very warm and loved. Her eyes were so heavy and prickled from the fire.

"Thank you, baby," she muttered. "I love you."

"I love you too," Zazzalil replied and stood up again. "Sleep now."

Jemilla closed her eyes and, thinking of her dear gone Molag, she went to sleep in a bed almost as soft as Zazzalil’s love.


End file.
